


Sun (In a Shaded Puddle)

by emphatichearts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Burns, Cigarettes, Hinata and Kags go to separate universities, M/M, Milk, Separation, Smoking, Smoking Hinata, Tragedy, Which makes everything hard, cigarettes are bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 21:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emphatichearts/pseuds/emphatichearts
Summary: Hinata and Kageyama have moved on to different universities. Their lives are no longer intertwined, wrapped together. It's been eight months since graduation. Eight months since the last 'hello'.It's difficult. Hinata has just finished what he has decided to be his final game of volleyball. Kageyama has his future laid out for him, but something is painfully missing. It's difficult. The game goes on.And in the middle, they meet.





	Sun (In a Shaded Puddle)

It's the blood pumping hot through your bones - or your arteries - whatever.

 _That's_ what Hinata feels when he's on the court, when he's springing himself off of the glazed maple floor, when his palm is smacking the grooved ball over the net. It's like fire in his bones, or his arteries - whatever. Whatever. _Whatever_. He doesn't feel that anymore.  _He drops his feet to the floor._ This has been his final match.

He shakes hands and does his bows. Leaves before the final address. Picks up his bag, over his shoulder, and heads out over to the stairwell balcony.  _Two years left of university._ The internship starts next month, he'll be far away, then. He won't see a court for the next two years. Probably for the next ever _._ Hinata thinks about this as he punches a cigarette between his teeth and lights it with a cheap convenience store lighter - it's not one from Ukai, of course. Hinata hasn't seen him, almost since graduation. He can't bear it, the shame.  _A half-paid internship at some nameless company for the next two years. A job out of university with a degree in economics. Economics._ What a joke. What a bloody joke. Hinata just wants to play volleyball. He just wants to be on the  _court._ Just on the court with his - friends.

Kageyama ends the game with a flying finish. Another easy win. The crowd cheers for him: Tobio Kageyama, volleyball star of U University, on a sports scholarship with the promise of a place on Japan's national team once his study ends - heck, he could probably just drop out now and start early. It'd be too simple, too perfect. A small, proud grin now takes its place among the growing range of emotions Kageyama has learned to express. You can tell just by looking at him, just by watching him play: he's older now; he's grown. He's not so much of the cold childish kid anymore. He can adapt to his team - his game sense is  _amazing_ , they say. The ball - the entire game - it molds like putty in his hands. _King of the Court_ , they don't even use it as an insult anymore. It just makes sense. Kageyama might still not enjoy the name very much, after all these years, but he gets the new sentiment and does that small, proud grin anyway, because his team likes it, because his team likes  _him._  Only two years left of study on this degree and he'll have a running start into the  _national team_. He'll be playing on international courts. Maple floors, synthetic urethane floors, all glossy and lit-up like puddles in the sun. He'll get to be on the court 24/7, just like he's always wanted. He'll have more teams to play against, more strategies to come up with, more moves to try. More terms to recognise, discussions, game plans, setting against the Greats. And he'll be it.  _One of the Greats._ That's what everybody keeps telling him. And that's amazing.  _I_ _sn't it? Isn't it?_

Kageyama shakes the hands and does the bows, drains his water bottle as he listens to his coach's address with acute focus. Focus, at least until he catches a glimpse of an orange tuft of hair trotting out from the stands. His lungs, swiftly; they catch in his throat without a shadow of a doubt -  _eight months._  It's been a good eight months. Eight months. He's never known another head of hair quite as bright as that ingrained, familiar orange. He'd caught sight of it amidst a crowd in the city once, called its name with no reply. He'd missed this colour of hair, the big brown eyes and wide beaming mouth that always came with it. The name that rings in his head whenever he even thinks of the colour, or even just whenever the sun's shining, making the dark puddles gleam.  _Shōyō Hinata ._ Arguably his friend. Arguably his enemy. Always his indisputable counterpart. It's strange. _Isn't it?_ He thought he was happy before, yes, doing what he loves most, playing on the court for a good team - the blood is still pumping hot inside of him, the adrenaline still swimming in his brain like a hot, rushing river. It's funny, really. He thought he was excited to have won, he thought it was the only thing that mattered to win, to go home happy, and everything would be fine and well and all okay.

He never realised that something was missing.

And it's funny now that he realises it, because now his heart feels quite empty and even though the blood is still pumping, it's a lot colder now. Like ice, and he's scared but he's also suddenly very sure of what he wants - or needs - whatever. Kageyama drops his bottle and heads out over to the stairwell balcony. The eyes of his teammates fall on him as he leaves and the coach calls him back, but its all muffled, because there's something he needs more than the team and the coach right now. Something brighter, something warmer, something like the sun in his hands, in the puddles at sunset back in Sendai. He needs this orange-haired boy right now. It's okay if it's just for a little bit.

* * *

The balcony door is open. It smells like nicotine at first, but the wind is heavy, and blows it all away, afresh. It's a small little area, cigarette butts and half-empty cups littered around the grey cement. Shōyō Hinata leans against the barring, looking out at the horizon, the sun - the clouds are dark and low, and they look a bit like the mountains back in Sendai. Back in Sendai. He's smoking, blowing the vapour between pursed lips. His brown eyes look distant.

"Hinata,"

He turns around and smiles, and it almost feels like everything might just be okay, might just be  _normal_ , but it only takes a second for Kageyama to realise that this smile, like the happiness he'd thought he had won before, is fake. It's somehow painful. Kageyama joins his old friend at the barrier with a sense of unease and watches as the bundle of hair ducks down into a grey sportsbag and pulls out something square and light blue. He bumps it against Tobio's shoulder, indicating for him to take it. He does. It's milk.

"What -"

"I knew you'd come up here. You like milk, right? Don't tell me that's changed, too."

Hinata turns his sight back to the skies as Kageyama shoves the carton into his pocket, chewing on his tongue, a bit confused. "You smoke now," he observes. Hinata puffs a trail of it into the wind. "Yeah, I do. Wanna try?" He plays with the thin stub between his lips, like an offer or suggestion, like he doesn't even care. Hinata tries his level best to make it look like he really enjoys smoking, like he had started three months ago because he wanted to and not because some guy at the firm advised him he'd need to if he wanted to get close to the clients.  _What sleezy clients_ , Hinata had thought at first. It didn't matter anymore, though. They'll be _his_ clients soon enough.

Kageyama shakes his head, softly, barely rejecting. He presses his elbows into the metal bar.

"You go to K University, right, Hinata?"

"Yeah."

"They're good."

"Yeah, sure, they're okay."

Kageyama twists his fingers together, grasping for words. "So, the semi-finals next month..." Hinata reacts a bit at that, shifting so that one leg straightens. Kageyama thinks he's said the right thing for a moment, then he sees Hinata's eyes again.

"I won't be going," Hinata says. "I won't be playing anymore. I've got an internship in Nagoya."

Tobio freezes at that. "You're..."

"I'm doing a degree in economics. K University has a campus in Nagoya. I'll be studying there for the next two years. I'll be living in a flat on my own there from next month on."

The words are coming out, drifting in the wind like Hinata's cigarette smoke, but they don't make sense at all. They're not Hinata's words. Not in the slightest. Not at all. Could he really have changed so much in just eight months? No, never. Kageyama prays that Hinata hasn't forgotten how to smile just when  _he's_ learned to. They were supposed to smile together. God, what a pathetic dream, did he really imagine that once upon a time? Doing their freak-quick to one of the high-ranking teams. Cheering together. Learning how to high-five. Feeling good, feeling small, but bigger at the same time. The underdogs from the cement - or undercrows - whatever. Whatever. _Whatever._ They were it. They were _great_. The greatest. Kageyama clenches his fists.

"Is that what you want?"

The air stops being clear.

It's smoggy now. Hinata still has the cigarette clenched between his teeth, blowing breaths through his nose; breaths clogged with smoke. It is a humid day, Kageyama quickly realises, and the sun isn't soft and happy anymore; it's merciless, and it hates the both of them, it's hoping they'll burn. He remembers the adrenaline of the match, the rushing river. It's at a standstill right now. It barely knows where to go. It's stuck, like a stick in the mud, like a jammed lock, like Hinata, looking hopeless at the bars like he wishes they weren't there.

"I want this," he lies. It's such an obvious lie. _Would Tobio know?_ he thinks to himself.  _Would he really be concerned with that?_ Volleyball, volleyball, that's all that matters to them two, them two idiots. And Tobio was brave enough to see that dream through, cared enough of it to be selfish for it. Shōyō almost despises him for it, but mostly he's just envious. He hates himself for giving up so easily, but that's how dreams go, isn't it? There's probably only one person in a million that gets to live their dream, so Shōyō might as well be one of the losers. He thinks of Tobio's winning point in the match before, a beautiful serve going straight over to the other edge, flying, like crows again, but this crow is much stronger now, much more breathtakingly captivating and cool. So if it takes a million Hinatas to have Tobio keep playing like that, he thinks it'd probably be worth a million more. He smiles. Tobio notices this.

"Do you - really..." Kageyama does one of his pouts, fidgeting, and Hinata laughs, wholly, fully, from his chest. He pulls his cigarette from his mouth just in time to start coughing, light hacks that will grow stronger with time. Hinata thinks of his mother, of her strained smile when he was looking through universities, looking for anything to do with sports, to do with volleyball, slowly growing to understand the look on her face, reaching for an 'economics' pamphlet instead. He thinks of his sister, bright little Natsu, cheering for him whenever he comes home from a game, even when he loses, with her school fees that won't pay themselves. He lets out a final, entirely gratuitous cough, then sticks the cigarette back in.

"Yeah," he chuckles. Kageyama's eyes trail away. Dark blue eyes. They always contrasted his hair so nicely, thinks Hinata. Dark hair like a crow. Blue eyes like a. Puddle. Lonely puddle in the shade. Tobio's eyes drift back to him, falling on his lips. Hinata's heart skips, like a fish changing course. They hold, like this, for a long moment. Hinata wonders what the other boy must be thinking behind those eyes. He blows some smoke out through the side of his mouth.

 _"That..._ _"_ says Kageyama, still nervously eyeing his mouth. "Can I try that?"

It takes a while for Shōyō to register the request. He'd thought Tobio was asking for something else for a moment there. It's funny at first, but then Shōyō takes a deep drag of this poison and finds that he doesn't want Kageyama to be poisoned, too.  _Don't,_ he thinks of saying.  _Don't become pathetic like me. You'll get lung cancer._ _Dumbass Kageyama._ Then he imagines Tobio, blowing out cigarette smoke from between his teeth. How long has it been? Seven months? Maybe eight? Shōyō imagines taking cigarette breaks between games with his old friend Kageyama, thinking about high school and laughing, together. Suddenly smoking doesn't seem that gross anymore, if it could at least be an excuse.

Hinata removes his cigarette and offers it out to Kageyama. There's a bit of saliva left on the filter, like a Shōyō brand of glaze, but Tobio doesn't hesitate to take it between his lips and draw. The breath is smoggy. It was the same as the second-hand smoke from Hinata, except much stronger now. It fills his mouth at first, the nicotine, then his nose, stealing his air, then his eyes and ears and quickly his brain. He runs his tongue around the filter. He removes the cigarette from his mouth and lets the ashy air out of his system, slowly. _Beautifully._ He takes another drag, but this time less measured, and the nicotine goes straight up his nose, burns it. Kageyama tries to hold back his cough, still biting the thing between his teeth.

It's disgusting. Hinata almost likes this, seeing Tobio look so pitiful. But he hates seeing him struggle a lot more. He closes the gap between them and lifts the cigarette from Kageyama's lips.

"It doesn't suit you, Kageyama."

"Please, I can try again -"

Hinata doesn't think straight for a moment. Their faces are so close, there could be no way he could help it, really. A swooping rush of movement; he closes the gap between their lips, the cigarette still wedged between his two fingers. _Take this poison, instead_ , thinks Hinata.  _Take me instead._ It's opened-mouthed, a moment stolen between the words 'again' and 'Shōyō '. They barely move, maybe both shocked into silence from this moment three years and eight months built up. Their tongues move, though. Hinata tastes the sweat from Kageyama's mouth, or perhaps he's just inhaling it, trying to breathe it all in, like it might clean him. Kageyama runs his tongue around Hinata's. It tastes like cigarettes, but there's a clear hint of Hinata underneath, like it hasn't been too late, like the real Hinata might just be inside if he pushes deep enough into his mouth. He tries, but Kageyama's tongue glazes past the roof of Hinata's mouth as he is unwillingly pulled away from the kiss.

They stand there for a moment, panting, palpitating, poisoned a bit. Hinata lets go of his chin. "Sorry," he grins -  _fake_. "I thought it would be funny to try that. Thanks for playing along. Bye!" He picks up his bag and reaches for the door, but Tobio sees his small hand, clenched tightly. Where did that cigarette go? He instinctively grabs Hinata's wrist, pulling him back, not letting him leave.

_"I gotta go, Kageyama."_

"Open your hand."

_"Let me go. I'll get angry."_

"You won't. Turn around."

The orange tuft of hair pauses for a moment before turning, its brown eyes bright and large, glazed with a new shine, a puddle's shine, falling with dewdrops that the sun couldn't evaporate.

"Is this what you wanted, Kageyama!" He sobs the words now, openly, his chest convulsing with each irregularity. Kageyama shakes his head and opens Hinata's palm, now loose. He removes the cigarette, which had gone out. The palm is burnt. The flesh is hot pink, red in the middle. His breath shakes. It's Hinata's right hand.

"I'll fix this," he says.

"No, you won't. It doesn't matter! I won't need it anymore." Hinata says this between hiccups, tries to pry his hand away.

Kageyama is determined. He brings the palm to his lips, kisses the burn. "I'll fix this," he says again. And what will he fix? He took a first aid class last semester, would that fix this burn? Is there an ointment that could fix this? Might Hinata have some in his bag? Or maybe this is a different kind of burn. A deeper burn. Is there an ointment for that? There has to be something he can do for it. Something that he wants to do. Shōyō's hand is shaking in his grasp. Something that he wants to do. Kageyama blinks, then extends his tongue and glazes it over the burn in Hinata's palm. He looks up at him as he does this, watching him begin to shake even more, the eyes growing blurrier, starting to become scared as well as sad.

"Don't..." Hinata whispers.

He sucks softly on the skin. "Stop..." Hinata's knees go weak at the feeling. He drops, and Kageyama readily goes down with him. He stops licking his palm when Hinata starts to wince at the pain, instead bringing it to his cheek and holding it there, his own warm saliva from Shōyō's palm sticking to the side of his face. He doesn't mind. Shōyō falls against him, his forehead bumping against his chest, and he feels like putty in Tobio's hands. Oh.  _How should I shape this?_ he wonders.  _How should I mold this tuft of orange hair in my hands?_ He mulls this over for a bit, then presses his lips against Shōyō's hair. It doesn't matter. He'll let this clay fall against him, like a puddle in a pothole. He'll let him take his form in his embrace, remember the curves and edges of his hold, like puzzle pieces slotted together in a perfect little picture.

He's supposed to get married, Shōyō remembers. He's supposed to meet a girl and pretend to love her and then marry her and lead a normal over-lived over-done salaryman life until lung cancer takes it all away. If he doesn't, he'll just end up disappointing his mother again. And what if Natsu doesn't like it? What if she's disgusted that her brother isn't like everybody else? What if she's unhappy because of it? He worries, until Tobio grasps him tighter, and he's fallen back into the moment, and he doesn't know if he really cares about anything anymore. He wraps his arms around Tobio, too.

"I want to play volleyball with you again," Tobio says. His voice is earnest. Shōyō chews on his bottom lip.

"I got scouted," he says.

Tobio takes him by the shoulders and pulls him back to look at his tear-speckled face.

"Did you -"

"I said 'no'."

 _Why_ _?_ The word resounds on his lips. Hinata shakes his head.

"I'm no good," he says. "I'm no good anymore. I don't have time to play after classes. I don't ride my bike in the mornings anymore, it's too far. I take the train. I'm out of breath so quickly. I'm no good anymore."

"Take the offer," Tobio urges, holding Shōyō's cheeks in his hands.

He shakes his head again. "No, it's no good." He slumps back into Tobio's arms. "Volleyball's no good if it's not with you. I'm no good without you."

Tobio's heart clenches. The blood pumps warm and quick. _'I'm no good without you.'_ Does he mean in volleyball - does he mean in school - in life? Well, whatever. Whatever.  _Whatever_. Anything will do. Tobio pulls Shōyō into his lap, arranges his legs to fit on either side of him.

"I'm no good without you, either. I'm not happy. Take the offer. When they see us play together, they'll want you on the national team."

"I can't be that good."

"We're that good together."

Shōyō hugs him tighter.

It's like a rushing river in his chest. Hot blood pumping through every bone - or artery. (Whatever.) _Think practically_ , he tells himself. If he takes the offer and tries hard enough, the pay might just be okay, even if it's just a small team. If he's a good son and brother, if he visits a lot and does well in his work, his mum and Natsu might just love him even if he's not like everybody else. If - no, who is he kidding. It doesn't matter. Practicality doesn't matter. Whatever. Whatever.  _He just wants to play with Tobio again._ He'll figure out the rest later.

He rubs his cheek against Tobio's chest; a nod. _'_ _Okay'_. He's held tighter.

"We'll practice together," says Kageyama.

"I'll stop smoking," says Hinata.

 

 

 


End file.
